Veni, Vidi, Vici
by Captain Possum
Summary: Skyrim collectively stands in disbelief as it is plundered by an elf of questionable sanity and her long-suffering friend. Less a story and more a collection of one-shots in chronological order.
1. Business

Just a heads up that Erandur's name is there for a reason and he will be in the next instalment. Don't run away just yet!

…

My first thought is '_Wow, what a shit hole_'

It literally smells like faeces here. As in, someone has walked around town and just excreted all over the place.

Also, the floor's a bit slippery. I want to think it's water but I've been in enough places like this to know it probably isn't. I'm just _not_ going to think about it.

Gods, is that someone getting mugged? It's broad daylight! I don't want to get mugged. I really don't want to get mugged because I have nothing to offer them but three septims, assorted crap I picked up on the road, a spoon and my underclothes.

I've had my underclothes stolen before. Not nice.

If there was any other town I could go to I'd give this place the finger and you can bet I'd be gone, but there's bears and bandits all around this place so adventuring is completely not an option.

I'm sure this place has some upsides. Like that quaint looking food stall over there. That's nice food, I bet. Shame I can't afford it.

"You lookin' for trouble?"

Oh, more tax collectors. Maybe I should just take my chances with the bears.

"Erm, no. I've already paid the 'visitors tax' so you can go hassle the guard outside if that's meant to be your job"

Is he laughing at me? In my experience if you can't tell whether a man's laughing or not you should stay well out of their way.

"You fell for that? You're not going to last five seconds here, elf."

I'm not dumb, I'm just very _very _scraggly and tired didn't fancy tangling with the city guard, you judgemental bastard. And he's a judgemental bastard that looks like he swapped brain matter for more muscles. Don't really fancy tangling with him, either.

"Oh, no. They fooled me. Crafty."

"The name's Maul; if you want dirt on anything I'm your man. But it'll cost you."

Wait, what?

"I don't want dirt on anything. Is that you greet people? Asking them if they want dirt?"

"I only ask the ones who look like they'll be needing the help." He's standing up with eyes that say 'I could probably rip you in half with my bare hands'. Yep, alright. I'm sorry.

"Oh. Well." What in Azura's name am I meant to say now? "Goodbye."

Yeah, you tell him Virani.

…

"I am **leaving** this den of iniquity!" This man's flapping his arms about and if he carries on like that he's probably going to take off.

"Maramal, I'm not kicking you out, we just need you to-" Wow, that argonian looks like he's seen better days.

"I will hear no more of it! You will answer for your sins in the eyes of Mara."

And with that the man with the flapping arms leaves in a storm of self-righteousness. It usually takes me more than ten minutes to find the town nut. Luckily the commotion with what I'm guessing was a priest is giving me a good chance to slip in unnoticed and if I'm lucky fall asleep on the table without being kicked out.

Or maybe make some observations before I fall asleep.

I'm not really a people person but I can tell there's a lot of fear, crime, or both. Fear and crime usually go together, actually. Like bread and cheese. But that's not the point. The kind of jittery fear here means there are thieves around, and everyone's using stupid looking bags instead of pockets. So that means pickpockets. Well, they're not going to find anything worth pickpocketing over in my corner.

I've read about the Thieves' Guild in Riften but never really paid much mind to them. These guys are like small, aquatic fish next to the… um, big aquatic fish that they are in Cyrodiil. That was a terrible comparison.

Back to the inn. In this stuffy little room, there's one thief, a mercenary, the two argonian barkeeps, two people from a higher up family- nobles, maybe? - and a shop owner.

I'm not sure how I work these things out, but after almost a hundred years of watching from the sidelines (It sounds creepier than it actually is) it's just easier to work out who's who. Except that man with the red hair in the corner. I don't who he is, but he's shifty.

Shifty and sizing me up. A conman, then?

Bah, like it matters. There's nothing he can con me out of.

"Good evening, lass." Smooth. Yep, he's a conman. He's either really determined or not very good at judging his victims because as previously mentioned there is _nothing_ he can take from me.

Getting a closer look I can those fancy clothes he's wearing aren't his natural state. There's dirt under his fingernails and his beard's a little untrimmed. Sloppy, but has a certain rugged charm to it. Shame I'm not into humans.

"How about I buy you a drink and we talk?" This guy's clearly up to something and being undead I don't require drink to live; but if it stops that guy I've just noticed in the corner looking at me like I'd be good prey in a back alley, I'll take his company.

"Sure, ale then." Apparently accepting a drink from him is some kind of social taboo because he's looking at me like I'm an idiot. Let's keep you thinking that, buddy.

"So, what brings you to Riften?"

Eugh, this swill passes for ale? I don't suppose there's a way you can discreetly spit out drink so I'll try to drink the whole mouthful in one go.

"Uh, stuff." Oh Gods, did I just taste dirt? Please let it be dirt, please let it be-

"Hm, what kind of 'stuff'? Not many people go to Riften on a whim" He crosses his hands over his mouth and carries on looking at me. The cliché position of any bad villain. You could make it less obvious you're planning something, you know.

"The 'stuff' kind of 'stuff'. I'm just passing through."

His eyes are a pretty intense shade of green. Like vomit. And he's trying to use them on me. As previously mentioned humans are not my thing, especially if they're trying to rob me.

Wait, nevermind.

He's been distracted by someone new who's just entered the inn. Black leather armour, lots of pockets. Thieves' guild obviously. These guys really aren't the masters of subterfuge.

"Ah, well. I've just seen my friend over there I'm afraid, so I have to take my leave. Sorry we couldn't talk for longer" He stands up with the cool confidence only someone faking it could muster.

Nervous, are we? So the guy with the black leather armour must be his boss. Or his Dad. I don't care. "Perhaps we'll see each other again, lass."

Not if I can help it.

The markets are opening soon. I think I'll pass nodding off on the table and sell that assorted crap I mentioned earlier.

…

"I can give you fifty septims for all this."

"Fifty? You're kidding. I picked that authentic spell tome from the cold dead hands of a master necromancer!"

Oh, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the necromancer. This guy's pulling a face that suggests he doesn't seem like the type that appreciates them.

"… Coin is tight these days. Sorry."

Oh, bugger it all.

"Fine. Just please take it off me."

Is he smirking at me? He's bloody smirking at me! "Good doing business with you."

Yeah, you too you stingy n'wah.

Wandering around a bit I can see the anxiety here, just on a larger scale than the inn. In cesspools like this one you get to see the finer aspects of human nature such as greed, selfishness and of course- the primitive instinct to survive.

Don't mean to get too deep, but people are naturally evil, and only fight against their nature when they're in a comfortable position to.

I read that in a book somewhere.

Wow, that woman in the brown finery and the evil black hair (I'm not sure how hair is evil, but on her it just _is_) looks like a witch straight out of a storybook. And she's just kicked a beggar. I bet she sacrifices children and other small animals in her free time, too.

And never you guess, it's the bad conman I met earlier!

"Authentic Falmer elixir, only twenty septims!"

With him swirling it around in the bottle it looks more like sewer water, but I've learnt not to argue with people over trivial things these days. And especially not in towns like Riften. You'll get stabbed.

Doesn't hurt to investigate, though.

"Falmer blood elixir, eh?"

"Ah, if it isn't the young lady I met in the tavern earlier. Yes, with this well-guarded College of Winterhold secret you can learn libraries worth of knowledge in seconds, heal any wound and experts suggest it's the key to eternal youth!"

"Wait. Eternal youth? College of Winterhold secret?! Az-Azura's ass man, it's sewer water! _Sewer water!_"

I'm not sure if laughing at this guy and his alleged libraries of knowledge is worth getting stabbed over, but I've gotten myself into more dangerous situations for kicks.

He seems amused too, which is odd. "One of the smarter people round here then. What's your name anyway, lass?"

Oh, what the heck, I can't help but like this red-headed sod "Virani. It's Virani. And you sir, are comedy gold."

"I'd rather be rich, but comedy gold will do fine for now." He's put the bottle down and apparently given up on trying to convince me to buy it. He's ushering me over to one side, and he's lowered his voice slightly. Wait, am I being seduced? "I may not be able to sell you this rubbish, but I think you'd be useful for something else."

"Wow, you're straight to the point. I don't do anything involving blood rituals, serious crime or impersonating authority figures"

He's laughing. At my joke! No one ever laughs at my jokes "No blood rituals? Damn it all. But seriously, you're an adventurer, aren't you?"

"Did the blank expression and lack of coin give it away?"

"I did notice you're awfully short on septims… which is why you'll want to hear this. I guess you've worked out why I approached you earlier?"

Well, I thought he was trying to scam or murder me but I prefer this line of questioning instead "You need someone who leaves town a lot, maybe looks like they need gold. I suppose you're not a merchant, either"

"Quick as whip, aren't you? I don't think you're quite cut out for my line of work, but your experience on the road can still help me."

I need the coin, and this not-merchant doesn't seem too bad. "I'm listening."

"I work for an organisation that's short on members and needs certain items… delivering. These items will increase trade for us, and in return you'll get coin." He gave a charming little smile. That's the first time I've ever described something as charming. I made an oath to stick to my own race! "No questions asked."

"Be honest. Are these items illegal?"

He exhales a bit before he carries on "No point lying now. Yes, they're stolen. Does that change anything?"

"Huh, so you're Thieves' Guild. No, it changes nothing really. Just wondering how many different types of dead I'll be if I get caught."

"You like danger?"

"I'll get attacked by three different species of bear and a bandit brigade if I'm having a good day." And if I'm having a bad day, people will find out I'm a vampire and chase me halfway across the continent… "I don't really have much of a choice when it comes to danger"

He's flashing me that lovely smirk again. "Can't be much worse than Riften. I think you'll do just fine around here. When are you next setting out?"

There's a body behind this red-head being thrown into the sewer by the city guard. Classy. "As soon as physically possible. I have got places to be, though, so I won't return straight away"

"That's fine, lass, as long as you get that merchandise delivered." He's shifting back towards his stall when some poor sap actually looks interested in his mystery liquid. "Stick around the inn tonight and I'll hand the first package to you."

He turns again slightly, and suddenly that friendly expression is a lot more sinister "Just a word of warning: don't betray us. I want this to work for us both"

Well if he can make me crap myself with a single look I'm not sure what would happen if he was actually angry. "Wouldn't dream of it"

And there's the sunny expression again "Great! You won't get a formal place in our little club but you'll be respected. It was Virani, wasn't it?"

"Um, yeah… definitely Virani."

He's giving a firm handshake. A practiced one, even. "My name's Brynjolf. I think we're going to be good friends, Virani."

Sheogorath's flaming underwear, why do I always attract people like this?


	2. Stones

"I can't believe it"

I'm not usually one for voicing my thoughts (on purpose, anyway), but I literally cannot believe it. Erandur and I have found the Serpent Stone.

Well, I found it and he more shuffled his feet behind and complained about the cold; but even he looks a little in awe right now. Then again, it could be interpreted as an expression that says '_You dragged me halfway across Skyrim for this?_'

"The view is nice."

The view. Well, if I had never witnessed passive-aggressive behaviour before, I'd assume that was just it.

"Oh, yeah… lovely…"

I'll give you a view off the side of the cliff if you dare mock the presence of the Serpent Stone again, you degenerate.

Although I suppose it is…nice. Round about this time of year and in places where nobody is stupid enough to go unless you're asking to be seven different kinds of dead, the heavens are the most impressive. The glaciers reflect the night sky and it's just sheets of sparkly white for a good two miles. Also, there's a snow bear mauling a walrus and a really irritating sound I can't quite locate. I'm sure Erandur's describing it a lot more poetically than me in _his_ head but I came to make notes and look like a tourist while doing it.

Come to think of it, I am a tourist. That makes the dead ice wraiths over there the disgruntled locals. I don't kill the locals usually, I swear.

"So what is this stone's purpose?" Beardo (I have a small obsession with his facial hair, and I've taken to calling him that in my head- almost accidently out loud a couple of times) is clearly trying to rationalise why two fire loving dumner have ventured out to where even the most intrepid Nord wouldn't bother going unless they had more testosterone than sense. Well, I assume Erandur is fire loving. Being a vampire, fire just kind of turns me to ash these days. Awkward.

"The stone's purpose is to annoy priests, and apparently it's working"

"Virani…" He's giving me the '_you're testing my godly patience_' look for the third time today. I think his mouth might have twitched a little at that joke, though.

"Okay, okay. The standing stones are meant to hold some kind of God-given power. The power for the fateless to change their fate. I'm guessing it would be stupid to ask if you're familiar with birth signs?"

He's wrinkling his nose a bit as he sits next to me on the linen I've placed on the floor "Of course I know about the birth signs. I'd noticed each stone had a name shared with a constellation so I assumed-"

"Yeah! Yeah, they're related! The legends I've read say the stones only respond to certain people though. I mean, there are all kinds of theories behind this such as…" Nah, I've scared off men before by getting in complicated hypothetical magical theory. Also scared them off for being undead but that's a different and much more interesting story. "Well, don't mind that. But it only reacts to very few people"

He's taken the notes I left at my side and is having a good flick through them "So the Serpent Stone was the last one you were trying to find?"

"It was the hardest to find. I've always felt bad for it, though."

"As a priest of Mara I believe in compassion, but I find it hard to feel sympathy for an inanimate object…"

Wow, was that a semblance of a joke? If my ducts still produced water you better believe I'd be shedding tears; he's given about one (unintentional) wisecrack since I picked him up a few weeks ago. Maybe my crazy is infectious. If he starts slashing his wrists and running through Tamriel in his smallclothes though, I won't be held responsible for it.

"Well, you know. It's the only stone without a month assigned to it. And it's so far away from civilisation! Everybody forgets about it, I think." He actually looks mildly interested in my plight for a magic rock "It must be horrible. To want to offer power and assistance to people and then everyone just kind of ignores you." I need to catch my breath "Everybody hates serpents, too"

"I understand"

Understand? Understand what? There's nothing to understand! They should just replace the stereotype of women being cryptic with a picture of Erandur.

"Yeah, well. Thanks. I think once I'm done we should go back to the College and return the findings no one particularly cares about. Maybe get ale from the inn that hates us after that. What do you say?"

"I wouldn't say no to the possibility of going somewhere warmer"

"Somewhere warmer. Noted."

Noted and most likely forgotten when the next interesting artefact pops up. Considering we've got a nice atmosphere going now, it would be a brilliant time to actually start those bad sketches I do of interesting things (I've never been much of an artist).

As I probably mentioned before, it's been a few weeks since I picked up this guy from a Dawnstar tavern. Not nearly as scandalous as it sounds considering we left the place and ended up in a temple full of dead people and angry Daedra.

I had a choice at the end. Take the admittedly very fascinating and powerful staff, or let the old priest live. As much as I wanted that super powered stick… killing someone for it doesn't sit well with me. I left those days of selfishness behind in Cyrodiil.

When I chose not to try and kill him I had no intentions of dragging the elf along with me, either. Being a vampire it takes a lot of sneaking about, acting suspicious and lying to hide it; and when people do find out it ends up in a blood bath, my burnt down house and an exhilarating chase over the border to Skyrim. Thus, being alone is a slightly more life-prolonging choice for everyone involved.

Back to the point. Once we'd finished up I tried to make general conversation; asked him if he preferred venison or goat, if he thought bards were annoying and should be put to the torch, what he was going to do with his life… and when he told me he was going to stick around in the same temple he'd just killed his friends in I made the emotionally charged and irrational decision to take him with me.

He's a bit of a stick in the mud, but generally-

Oh, it's that really irritating sound from earlier! Now that it's louder though, it kind of sounds like…

"**Move!**"

Fire! There's fire all over the ground and on my beautiful not-complete-yet notes!

It's been a while since I've thrown myself willingly onto the floor, but I'm doing it anyway. I've taken Erandur down with me too, but apparently he's savvier than I am because his mace is already in his hands.

That noise was only a Gods-forsaken dragon.

"We need to get to less exposed ground!" If I could pick up a sword and knight Erandur as Sir Obvious, I would. But there's no sword and just a lot of fire at the moment. The dragon is one of the lower ranking ones; you know, those green saps that probably got the crap kicked out of them and bullied out of their lunch septims by other, beefier dragons at whatever school institution dragons go to.

Right now this thing was kicking the crap out of me and Beardo though, because we've had to run onto the ice caps and the ice caps tend to melt under generous amounts of flames. I've lobbed a few ice spikes his way but he's just shaking them off like I'm poking a heavily armoured imperial guard with a butter knife. If that example sounds a bit specific it's because I've tried it before.

The creature's nosedived for the more solid looking ice sheets, and I'm deciphering Erandur's expression of sheer terror as as a '_go for the wings_'.

**Chink, chink, chink. **

Put a big icy lance through the joint between the body and the arm/wing/thing when he thought he could get to me. Got another one in the flank, and the last flew off and presumably hit a bird or carried on flying through the air until it hit one of the Gods in the eye (I have no idea where the Gods live, but you never know).

"_Dovahkiin!_"

Even on the weedier dragons that voice makes my blood run cold. Technically being a vampire means it runs cold anyway but that's not the point.

The dragon, undeterred by his broken wing joint, is still trying to take off. For creatures that are apparently smarter than your average tax-collector they're not really tacticians. He could have just stayed in the sky and shot fireballs at us! Why did he think coming down was a good idea?

"Azura curse you!"

Nevermind that, Erandur's launched himself at the foe while it was distracted trying to intimidate me and gave the large winged argonian an eyeful of dwarven steel. If you didn't know he was a priest, you'd guess he was a nutcase dressed in priest's robes who didn't mind getting in the face of a fully grown monster.

While the dragon's screaming something in presumably dragon language, I'm going to go launch a few more spikes and pray to Boethiah I don't miss. Although considering the way Erandur's doing a number on the left side of the lizard's face I could probably sit down and let him get to it.

One in its other eye, one in the snout and one in the-

Fireball! I sure hope that sickening crunch I just heard was our adversary's skull and not Erandur's spine.

"_Meyye dovahkiin! Taazokaan los fah Alduin!_"

The beast is flinging its stupid head around and spewing fire for no reason. If you're going to give threatening last words, scrawny green dragon, make sure the elf on the receiving end understands what you're saying. Although, maybe it did work. I could only make out 'Alduin' and even mentioning his name these days makes me a little queasy.

In an impressive burst of heat, the immortal being slams its face onto the side of the glacier, then its wing, then its entire body until it stops twitching and hopefully dies for good.

"Virani, are you-" He's cut himself off partly to catch his breath and partly to look at the dov's skin dissolving. Maybe I should have mentioned the Dragonborn bit when I told him to pack his bags and come on a mad adventure with me. "Mara's mercy…"

I hate absorbing dragon souls. Feels like sticking your head in room full of steam while an immortal creature curses you for it. Yep, you can hear the dragon screaming while you rip its soul from its body. Good party trick.

"Erandur, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this…"

"You… how… what did you do?!"

"Nothing, really. I don't do it willingly. I'm… erm… do you want to go sit down?"

He looks like he's about to keel over and fall into the sea. Definitely best if he sat down "I… yes. Yes, I suspect I need to sit down for this."

…

"…And, yeah. It's apparently my great destiny to stop this World-Eater and save Tamriel. Cliché, but it gives me something to do."

He hasn't said anything, which probably isn't good. I'd rather he give me something cryptic then give me nothing at all. He's just… mulling it over like you would wine.

"This is your chance to run off screaming without me holding it against you, Erandur"

Nope, still mulling over that metaphorical wine.

"That dragon was just took down was one of the weakest of the bunch. It'll get worse. You could just turn around and walk over the melted ice caps if you have a preference to living."

He's shifting around on the newly placed, slightly scorched mat, hood thrown back for once and scratch on his torso not quite healed yet. The sun's burning my skin a little and its times like this when I'm reminded why I've been alone for so long.

"When do we set back out to Winterhold?"

Wasn't expecting that. "I… wait what? You mean you're not going to leave?"

"No. In a way, I feel it was my fate to destroy the Skull of Corruption back in Dawnstar, and you assisted me. It seems fitting I help you with your destiny, if you're willing to have me."

Is it a crime somewhere to be this virtuous? I haven't seen anyone do something so idiotic and utterly selfless is fifty years.

He's decided to continue before I can open my mouth "…Before I regret asking, are there any other surprises I should know about?"

"I have a really gross birth mark on my backside, and have a habit of finding myself in strange situations, but the Dragonborn thing was the most important" I don't like lying, but I've heard him talking about how vampires are monstrous and under every single circumstance chaotic evil, so I'll leave that part out.

For about the second time since we've met, he's smiling at me "Then lead on."

I never thought a hunk of rock and a dragon would be good bonding material, but it just was. I'll thank whatever Gods are watching over me later, and thank Beardo for sticking around right now.

The sun still stings and after almost being killed so does my back; but for once, I think I'm going to be all right.


	3. Ale

This was a ridiculously fast update, but I know for a fact the other chapters won't be so speedy. It's just because I got this chapter finished and really wanted to get it posted. Anyway, (hopefully) enjoy!

…

Sitting at my favourite corner in the Bannered Mare, I can see everything. I also know nobody will come over to this place because Hulda told me someone was shanked in this exact spot once, and now all the Nords think it's haunted. It seems disappointingly not-haunted to me.

I sit here and watch most of the time, because it's been about half an era since I was able to get drunk. That's one of the other many advantages of being a vampire; immunity to toxins of any kind. However, the patrons don't know that and some of the drunker ones are convinced I'm Talos reincarnated into a dumner form because I can drink as much as I want and not die of almost-qualifies-as-alcohol poisoning.

"Virani, are you sure you don't want anything?"

Looking over I can see Erandur swirling ale around in its rusty mug and knotting his eyebrows together. It's like his eyebrows are star-crossed lovers and if he pushes them together any closer they'll be reunited. Although Beardo's (Yes, Erandur's secret nickname has stuck) reserved concern can be endearing sometimes, all the other times it just makes me paranoid. Still getting used to the attention.

"Yes, I'm sure. Let me sit here and not drink in peace."

I have no idea if auras exist, but I'm hoping mine will somehow turn into a telekinesis field and push him towards the other end of the tavern. After today's events I'm not really in the mood for anything.

"You couldn't have done anything." He pauses to place down his tankard "Do you want me to leave?"

If I didn't know better I'd assume he was patronising me, but unfortunately he's not so I don't have an excuse to snap at him. It's not his fault. It's my fault. Like it was my fault that he had a picture of a naked woman burnt into the back of his robes last week (He doesn't know that yet, though).

"Give me a few days and I'll be back to irritating you. Go on, I've given you the septims. Drink"

I can see he doesn't really want to drink but doesn't want to be the subject of my ire either. So he goes off and sits by the bar and he drinks. I'll just stay here and watch the faint outline of a bare-breasted female on the back of his clothing.

I prefer this inn to the one in Riften, maybe even Markarth. Smells more of sweat and mead than overpriced swill and destitution. If I shut my eyes and pretend that the Nordic accents have an all too enthusiastic '_For the Emperor!_' twang to them, the Bannered Mare reminds me of Cyrodiil. Never thought I'd miss Cyrodiil's holier-than-thou inflection.

Hm, I'll take out a book. I know whenever I do something abhorrent such as reading in a tavern I'll get a few looks of utter disgust, but it's only a few and the majority don't notice me anyway. Most of the looks are because Nords aren't interested in pastimes or objects if you can't kill something with it, but I just tell them if you can't kill someone with a book you're not trying hard enough.

Reading is the next best thing to wallowing in my angst, I think.

"Well, if it isn't the Companions!"

Oh, fantastic. Mostly this lot don't migrate to places that they see as not _glorious_ enough for them, but apparently their own mead supply running short outweighs the sense of self-righteous honour.

They're all here tonight. Well, most of them; there's the redheaded woman who's probably more bloodthirsty then I am, the two twins who humorously share similar appearances and nothing more, an older man with a bald patch who still looks like he could crush a giant's head between his buttocks, a dumner with a stupid haircut (who's scowling, unsurprisingly) and another Nord woman who looks like she's going to try and tear the dumner's head from his body at any second. I've met them all today and few times before that, and don't wish to do so again.

"Get the mead flowing, Hulda!" That's the older man- Skewer or Scar (I'll stick with Skewer) or something else ridiculously Nordic- barking out orders to the inn owner. And instead of clocking him round the head with a flagon like she should have done, she's obliging him!

"Got any stories for us tonight?" Mikeal's weedy little head has suddenly appeared around the door and pretty much begging for song material. And instead of clocking _him_ round the head with a flagon like Skewer should have done, the obliging continues.

"Vilkas?" Skewer looks to the skinnier of the twins and is regarding him with look of a man who isn't very good at telling war stories. I can see Vilkas let out a little huff but the red in his cheeks suggests the small flash mob that have just walked in have already been drinking "I'll tell you about the battle at Pelagia farm, then."

Of course. Of course it had to be the battle at Pelagia Farm. Erandur's perked up from his slightly drunken stupor and his head's swivelled round so our eyes meet.

'_Do you want to go?_' He's mouthing.

'_No._' I signal back. I don't think they've noticed me yet and I want to hear this. It'll be interesting to see what parts they mention.

...

"It started when one of the guards burst down our door around mid-day, covered in blood and ash. Companions! He cried, _Pelagia Farm is being assaulted by a dragon!_"

The mead addled tavern-dwellers are collectively gasping, as if a dragon is a new threat that _hasn't _been plaguing the land for months. Part of me just wants to smack them all upside the head and recount Helgen, but if life has taught me anything it's that it's better to hold your tongue around drunken people.

"I summoned the other warriors, and began to sprint as we saw the blaze of fire on the horizon. A choir of the damned. When we reached the farm there were a few men fighting valiantly, but they were no match for the majestic beast…"

Yeah, a few well-trained men, battle priest Lord Beardo, a fully trained housecarl and the Dragonborn. It wasn't that hopeless you arrogant bastard. Also, fire doesn't sound like a choir of death. It sounds like fire and people screaming after being hit with said fire.

"How big was the dragon?" Sinmir- who I didn't think was into this kind of thing- is draining the rest of his tankard and trying not to fall off the back of the bench he's sitting on. With a bit of luck maybe he'll fall forwards instead and into the grate.

"Huge. As big as this tavern and much more dangerous!" Farkas has decided to put his two septims in, and I must say I appreciate his simple vocabulary a lot more.

Apparently Sinmir thought that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard; because he's actually managed to fall backwards off his seat and land conveniently under Saadia's skirt. You're going to get roasted by her more than any dragon could manage, buddy.

"Carry on with the story!" I think Mikeal's suddenly realised if Vilkas keeps getting distracted and drinking, he'll be too besotted to finish to finish off the largely inaccurate story, and the bard's only hope of getting laid in the future.

"Ah, yes. We came down to the farm and drew the creature's attention from the brave soldiers. The flames from the previous attack licked at our armour but not one of us relented. It cursed our names in a language we could not hope to understand" (Wait, how did you know it was cursing you if you couldn't understand it?) "Arrows and fire flew across the razed fields, and the dragon's wings were beating against the sun. From down where we standing, it looked like a God."

The tavern is practically on the edge of its combined seat. Uthgerd, who usually looks like she'd punch the Companions to death if it was legal, is leaning forwards like a kid at bedtime.

The juxtaposition from Erandur is hilarious though; he's looking at me and I can practically hear him saying '_This guy really has a flair for the dramatic_'.

"But that has never put us off before! We charged forwards as one, swords gleaming under the swell of the day, and a well-placed shot from Aela crippled the fiend and brought it to heel." A cheer from the crowd has shut Vilkas up for a moment, and Farkas still looks like he's trying to figure out all the fancy words his brother is using "When the dragon stood before us, it was a bloody and desperate battle. Many of the men I mentioned before stood beside us but perished. We- mere men- battled this immortal being until our arms ached and our bodies were drenched in the liquid of battle."

I'm assuming the '_liquid of battle_' is blood. You could have just said blood. Still- as aforementioned- I'm not going to argue with a man who is utterly sloshed, especially if he looks like he could kill me and tell his absurdly worded story at the same time.

"Farkas delivered the killing blow"

Farkas has taken a moment from his frazzled thoughts to beam and guffaw at the mention of his name. Good to see he's able to understand that, then.

"He took his blade and _cleaved _the monstrosity's skull in two. It let out a fearsome bellow, and eventually gave into an eternal rest"

You could have just said it died. Eternal rest could mean anything. Like a dramatic coma. Typically cleaving something's head in two doesn't just put it into a coma.

According to the Bannered Mare, however, this doesn't matter. They're all standing up and screaming about something or other, with one of the men- Ulfberth, I think?- clapping Farkas round the head and pulling him into some mockery of a hug.

Aela and Skewer are sitting together on the chairs right next to Erandur, and if they weren't in public I'd assume they'd be ripping each other's clothes off right about now. The dumner with the stupid haircut and the angry Nord are still glowering, but now they're drinking and lost the ability to contain themselves like a not-drunk person, I'm giving it five minutes before the fisticuffs start.

That's not important, though. Skinny twin Vilkas didn't even _mention_ Lydia. You know, the reason I wanted to come to this tavern in the first place. It isn't fair-

"We fight for the honour of the Companions!"

It would be naïve to wonder why they didn't care, but I can't help feeling like they should-

"A round on the house for the Companions!"

Oh, invisibility be damned, Companions be damned, and I curse my ancestor's chronic tendency to be misanthropes.

"Vilkas missed out some rather important parts of the story."

Erandur's looking at me like I'm a different person, and everyone else is staring like I'd just materialised in the middle of the room out of thin air using elf magic. Deathly silence, save the sound of Adrianne choking on her mead out of shock.

"Dragonborn."

That hostility is clearly from Vilkas, then. I don't really like a lot of people, but especially not him. He's like a horker- a conduit of frustration and resentment at his situation. Around me, anyway.

"Don't '_dragonborn_' me. I'd like to add to your story, if that's alright with you…" I hope he interpreted that as a challenge, because it was. Beardo's looking a little restless.

"Of course. You didn't really do anything, but tell me what I missed."

Luckily there's still an intoxicated haze in the room, and only the sober or the smart ones can figure out that we don't really like each other. Then again, even if Farkas was sober, the pugnacity would probably just bounce off his thick head. I kind of like him, actually.

"Vilkas-"

"No, Skjor. I'll let her speak."

Oh, so 'Skewer' is actually 'Skjor'. Still going to stick with Skewer.

I'm by the fire now and taking in a deep breath. I haven't had so many people focused on me in months. I'll shield my eyes, and hope that poetry class I took about 25 years ago helps me articulate myself in front of my inebriated audience.

…

_It started in Breezehome. I consider my formal home to be the College of Winterhold, but had bought this house out of a need to store the more interesting crap I found on the road that wasn't really worth selling…_

_Sorry, not the point, I'm not as adapted to telling stories as the great and mighty Vilkas over there. It was Erandur, Lydia and I; all sitting around eating bread and not really saying much. I didn't travel with my housecarl, but I respected her anyway. Afterwards I actually liked her when one Tirdas we sat up all night gossiping about Jarl Balgruuf. Then we heard the fire. Not the choir of death, just plain old fire and the shrieking of most likely innocent bystanders. _

_Since death is usually my cue to get to work, all three of us ran outside and Lydia slapped one of the guardsmen who was running back until he blubbered out where the dragon was attacking, and whether there were any people still alive. "N-No-one has" He took a second to sob "Come back fr-from there y-yet". We left the poor guy to wet his drawers in peace and got down to the farm. _

_I've seen destruction before, but I'll never get used to it. It stank of burning bodies, burning cabbages and just burning in general. You can tell how powerful a dragon is by the tint of its scales. This one was red, and so I knew it meant business._

_When the guards who were trying to fend it off from their oversized lawn noticed who I was, one of them ran over and begged me for help. I didn't know what to do; I'm no warrior… just someone who knew a few spells. I told the man I'd help anyway because I assume that's what you're meant to do when you're the good guy, and that was that. Me, the priest and the housecarl all jumped into the madness. _

_There wasn't anything heroic about this fight; it was just a bunch of people trying to survive. Lydia was the most impressive one, she shot arrows and slashed at the monster and screamed orders at the men we had left. _

_Then we noticed the burning house. It was on the outskirts of Pelagia farm, and yet still managed to get caught in the backlash from one of the dragon's attacks. The door had been barred by debris, and it was burning. And there was a family inside. _

_It was kind of obvious what we had to do, at that point. The guard- brave sods to the very last man- agreed that they would distract the beast with Erandur while Lydia and I tried to save the people in the house. We scampered off, and by using my telekinesis and Lydia's strength we moved the bar blocking the way. We didn't have much time left, because the flames were spreading down like… um… flames. _

_Both of us barrelled into the main hall and dragged the retching captives out from where they had been huddled. Lydia went back upstairs to look for more survivors and one of them- this guy with a fantastic looking beard- was bleeding profusely, with the sobbing of his wife almost drowning out the sound of soldiers dying in the background. I didn't want to tell them there was no hope for the father, so instead I told them to pull him and themselves away behind that small hill over there and pray to their Nord Gods the dragon didn't find them. _

_The dragon didn't find the family, but it did find me. And the house that Lydia was still in. I tried to warn her, I remember. I was screaming her name at the window but was too scared to go in because the thing was circling around and I could feel its gaze._

_The fat bastard landed on the house, and the entire building was crushed. I'm glad I didn't hear her die, and even right now I'm praying it was quick. But I knew she was dead. And she…_

…

"… And that was just it, really. Wasn't able to recover anything."

Is it normal to feel like vomiting even though you're dead? Because I feel like bending over and just spewing all over the fire in the tavern. That fire is the only sound I can hear.

But I'm meant to be on a tirade, damn it, and despite my common sense telling me to get the Oblivion out of there I'm going to finish.

"So you sit there, Companions and resident drunks, and you drink that… whatever that piss is meant to be, and I hope you enjoy it. I also hope you sit down and remember you fetchers- for all your talk of glory- weren't the real heroes today. The real hero is smouldering under a pile of wood"

The fire continues making that mocking crackling sound, and although I don't think it's normal for a hearth to make fun of you, it reminds of the burning farmlands I witnessed earlier. So yeah, it's definitely telling me that I messed up. Again.

Farkas is the first one to step forwards "She… We didn't know she was…"

"Something tells me you probably wouldn't have cared. Death by collapsing house doesn't make a very good war story."

Whew, I think I'm done now. The inn-goers aren't finished gawking though and all of a sudden it's making me feel uncomfortable again.

"Erandur, are you done here?"

"Absolutely."

"Then let's go."

Beardo's breathing is heavier than usual and I can tell he's feeling almost as uneasy as I am. My hand is on the door and, Gods, am I ready to-

"To Lydia." Was that Aela's voice?

No, wait, I've got to go back in.

"To Lydia!" Sinmir's picked his ass back up off the floor- sporting a new red slap mark- and is waving his tankard around like a man possessed.

"Tonight, we drink to Lydia and the guard!" Vilkas, with all his animosity for me, is lifting up his drink too and gives me a surprisingly sober nod.

And with Vilkas' silent approval, the Bannered Mare erupts into celebration again. Drink and Gods-knows-what is flying across the room, silly-hair dumner and his Nord adversary have finally settled the tension by simultaneously whacking each other in the face, Mikeal is trying to get this literary goldmine down and all of a sudden I don't feel so bad.

"Want to go home, Virani?" I think he already knows the answer, but is asking out of courtesy.

"I'm unbearably thirsty all of a sudden"

I hope that Shor fellow gives you a pat on the back when you reach Sovngarde, Lydia. You've bloody earned it.


	4. Nightmares

Just a warning that there's a lot made up in an already fictional story here, and the Rimion character mentioned is not canon (Also, the concept of vampires getting cranky if they don't find blood within a few days of their last feed is a headcanon of mine). The idea is based off a comment Erandur makes if you enter undead territory:

"_A good friend of mine was infected by a vampire long ago. He killed himself rather than change into one of those… things._"

…

_Burning. Right, so everything is burning. _

_It's in my clothes, under my feet and why can't I get this damn window open?! _

_Azura's tits, I didn't ask for this. I would happily sat in my house and-_

_This is my house. This is my house in Cyrodiil._

"_**Kill the vampire! Burn it! Smoke it out!"**_

_I would have left you all alone! Why would you come all the way over to the outskirts of Cyrodiil just to set me on fire? _

_I would just stay in this house and feed when I needed to and none of you would be the wiser!_

"_**It's still inside! Kill it! Torch the bloody thing!"**_

_The window won't open. Why is it not opening?! I can't-_

_Oh Gods I can't-_

"_**Burn it! Burn it! Burn it!"**_

_I didn't ask for this I didn't ask for this I didn't-_

…

"Virani?"

"Shit!"

"It's was a dream. Take a breath. It was a dream"

I'll take a breath alright. I think I'll take a few breaths just to check I am definitely not being burnt alive.

"The window opened last time."

Oh, bugger. I didn't mean to blurt that out. Although Erandur- being a saint in priest's clothing- seems to understand immediately and doesn't bring it up.

Vampires dream a lot, actually. Although those dreams are supposed to be from Molag Bal so they just involve a whole lot of gore and aren't nearly as inventive as the one I just had. That dream was a memory, altered to be the worst case scenario. I was able to get the window open when it actually happened, fortunately for me.

"It must be Vaermina." He pauses to push his hair back from his forehead and _is he sweating? _"It has to be. I'm sorry"

I'm not really sure what to say. I couldn't say it's not his fault, because I'm fairly certain Vaermina didn't hate me before I defied her direct orders to kill him. But then again, he was just trying to do what was right. Not like he asked the Daedra to give me crippling nightmares.

And even though he thinks I can't, I've heard him. Up and pretty much screaming in his sleep (I don't actually watch him sleep, because that seems like too much of a stereotypical vampire thing to do). He's been having nightmares far longer than I have.

"Oh, it's no big deal. Not really a big fan of sleep, anyway" It's true. I don't need sleep as much as mere mortals.

Although he doesn't know that and I think he's interpreted that comment as (very badly) trying to make light of a grim situation. I can't just tell him it was the sordid truth, unfortunately.

"Virani…" That '_Virani_' wasn't the usual '_Virani I'm seriously going to hit you_', it was more a '_Mara's mercy, I've just ruined your life_' "I didn't think she would focus your attention on you too. I thought I would be enough." He's stopped again, and part of me really wishes I could just stand up and give the guy a hug.

"I'd feel sorely put out of Vaermina ignored me!" Gods, he looks close to tears. I'm probably not helping. "You're going to make me cry if you don't change your facial expression. I mean, these dreams aren't actually dangerous like the ones in Dawnstar, right?"

"No, they're not. But that isn't-"

"Then what are we worrying about? If the most Vaermina can do is make me a bit upset, then she's no worse than that stage production they put on in the Solitude Palace sometimes!" That's a good stage production. It's a shame I can't produce tears anymore because if I could it would have me blubbing.

He just sighs and shakes his head a little "I wish I could have your unique outlook on things, sometimes."

"You might want to take that back. My outlooks tend to lose me friends."

Beardo (his beard is still fabulous) chuckles a little, but doesn't make a move to go back to his bed roll. Instead, he carries on facing me. I don't fancy going to back to sleep either, buddy.

"Are we setting out to Solstheim tomorrow?"

If I had it my way we would be travelling in the pitch black so my skin doesn't burn off, but the 'not-an-undead-creature' act wouldn't be as convincing if I sat in a cave and hissed at passers-by all day.

"Ugh, maybe. I might just find the guy who keeps shipping over the assassins and strangle him. Never wanted to return to the glorious homeland, myself."

It's mostly because it's only been seventy and a half winters since I was chased out of Morrowind, I'm scared I'll run into someone I know from back then and they'll start wondering why I still look like a prepubescent male.

He doesn't seem too willing to return to the glorious homeland either. Or, he wants to use the toilet.

"Would you mind if I told you something?"

Alternatively he could just want to talk. That works too.

"Depends what that 'something' is…"

He takes that response as a 'yes' and shuffles a little more so we're reflecting the other's position. "You remind me of a friend I had, once"

I bet five septims that he ends up dead. "Was he a nutcase too?"

He gives a little snort at the nutcase comment (Probably silent agreement), and carries on "No, but nothing seemed to faze him. His name was Rimion, and I met him at a rundown tavern in Cyrodiil"

"You've been to Cyrodiil?"

Erandur shuts his eyes and nods, as if I've just resurfaced another bad memory. This mer is just a bad memory minefield. "After I left the following of Vaermina, I wandered. At first I left the region altogether and found myself there."

Wow, imagine how awkward it would have been if I'd met him in Cyrodiil, and then again in Skyrim? It usually takes a few years for people to notice I may be drinking their blood, but my mortal disguise would have been broken record-breakingly early. Wait why does that even matter?

"Anyway… I met Rimion at a tavern and for some reason he brought me a drink, told me I '_looked like I needed it_'. I accepted and the next thing I knew I was leaving with him."

"Erandur! Didn't realise _you_ were the type to be swept off your feet by handsome men." I've given him a joking elbow in the side but he doesn't find it as funny as I do. Whoops.

"It wasn't like that, Virani. We left and something made me like him. Maybe it was because I felt so lost after running from Nightcaller Temple, I don't know…"

I can see him fidgeting a bit, like a kid who's trying to explain why the farmhouse is on fire. "If this doesn't have a happy ending, you don't have to tell me…"

"No, I started this. We journeyed together, and even though he was cheerful, it seemed like he was running from something- I didn't know what, at first. But I liked Rimion; I eventually told him about my past affiliation with Vaermina. He told me it didn't matter."

Meaning this fellow dealt with it a lot better than I did.

"Originally I had run out of fear of the miasma, but he was the first person to suggest that perhaps being inducted had been wrong in the first place... it must have been the brainwashing, but I had never thought of that. We went around Cyrodiil, sometimes earning money, sometimes righting wrongs. About five months after I had met him, he received a letter from a hooded courier"

"Was it pornographic material?"

"What? No!"

"That's a shame. Well… what was it then?"

"It was from a vampire."

Oh. Oh, wow. Is he doing this on purpose? Does he know and is trying to say in the politest way possible '_You're undead and I'm going to tell on you_'?

"That usually isn't good…"

"It turns out he'd killed a cavern of them a year ago in High Rock, and the rest of the clan had found out. They were toying with him. It was a warning."

Silence. I'm not sure what I'm meant to do but listen.

"Rimion told me to go, and that was the end of it. I left."

The stories I used to hear at the fireside were typically a bit happier than this. You know, stories about Barenziah and her dumb looking crown; stuff that little dumner girls _lapped_ up. "Dare I ask if you ever saw him again?"

"I never saw him again in person, no." Erandur looks a lot older than he actually is in this light. Or maybe he's just tired; I can't tell anymore. "But I received a letter. It thanked me for my friendship, and told me not to seek Rimion out. The vampires had turned him, and he refused to live that way. He'd… he had took his own life rather than let the beasts win.

Yeah, this is definitely some kind of subtle way of letting me know vampires are bad and so am I. You could have just sent me a card or a badly written poem.

"In such a short time those vampires drove a man to suicide. I… there's no real point to this story, I just dream about it sometimes. You reminded me of him, and Vaermina knows it."

So maybe he doesn't know and is just really good at inadvertently making me uncomfortable.

"Oh. Well, I… oh."

Erandur's stood up and suddenly realised I most likely didn't want to hear about his dead friend. "I'm sorry, that was too sudden-"

"No! No, probably just a bad person to tell… I'm not sure what to say. I'm sorry."

I have no idea why I'm grabbing his arm but I'm doing it regardless. He doesn't seem to understand why he stood up anyway, because now he's back and directly in front of me. And we just sit there. I wouldn't call this kind of silence awkward, but it's probably hanging there because neither of us knows what to do.

"I wonder if Solstheim still has netches"

…

"State your business, outsider"

Yep, the dumner here are still as miserable as they are in Skyrim. And I don't see why because Morrowind is a beautiful province (I'm not being biased, but every other continent is really ugly compared to my homeland). I wasn't too eager to come back a few days ago, but seeing it now I'm starting to notice perhaps I'd been a little homesick without realising it.

Also, dark elves are beautiful. But beautiful race or not, I haven't come all this way for some n'wah to address me like this.

"Oh, we don't have business really. Just tourists come to ravish your daughters and urinate on your honoured dead."

My pugnacious greeter looks like he's going to try and push me off the boat any second now, and I don't doubt his ability to do it. He looks irritable and _very_ tired. I'm not sure why yet, but I intend to find out.

"Forgive my companion; we've had a long journey. We don't intend to ravish anyone or urinate on anything." Beardo is such a bore, sometimes.

"For your sake, I hope not. You'll obey our laws while in Raven Rock, travellers"

Part of me wants to carry on talking to this guy and see how many different ways he can say 'outsider', but Erandur has safer plans and drags me off to bother the locals.

Walking around, the residents here look just as tired as the guy from the docks. Weary, pissed off, and definitely not too fond of me. Although I am wearing a mask (pried from the cold dead ashes of a dragon priest) because I haven't been able to feed during the boat trip. Literally look like a corpse right now.

The place is quaint in its own way, people aside. Solstheim has a certain mystery about it that you couldn't find anywhere else (Once again, not being biased). Perhaps the mystery just might be the fact everybody is paranoid, though.

Thinking about paranoia, I've been a bit jumpy lately. Ever since my priest follower told me about Rimion I've been flinching whenever he talks and unintentionally acting shifty. I don't do it on purpose, but if he found out anything he shouldn't I feel the semblance of bliss we've got going between us would be shoved over a metaphorical cliff.

Not that I've been helping the matter. Gods, I've been a bitch lately.

"I think we need to start off at the tavern. Drunks are more trusting so they'll probably tell us all we need to know about-"

I've turned around to see Erandur a good few paces behind me gawking at the general store. Store browsing while we try to stop deluded cultists following me around? He's more of a woman than I am!

"Erandur?"

No response.

"Erandur…"

Somebody's going to get hurt if he doesn't cover the distance between us pronto- namely everyone within a province's radius. Am I this horrible all the time?

"Any response would be much appreciated"

"Virani, look at this."

He's asking for it. He is so asking for it.

"I'm not looking at anything but the head of the man who wants _my_ head. I came to Solstheim to stop a conspiracy against me, not bloody shop!"

"Just take a look at-"

"We have travelled in a boat for three days, you were sick twice, and the first thing you do is look at whatever you're looking at! What if those cultists had swooped down and ran me through? Well?"

"I probably would have noti-"

"No, you wouldn't have, and I'd be face down in the dirt. This is life or death. _Life or death!_"

Most of the townsfolk have turned their heads to watch what is probably the most action they've seen all week, but I don't really care because I need to find blood, and any sleep I've tried to get has been crapped all over by Vaermina. Erandur disregards me shouting at him and places down whatever he'd noticed. I'm not looking at it. I'm not even glancing at it.

"I was only-"

"Only what? I'm trying to strategize and you're not even listening. I called your name twice. Twice! I have never had to call anybody that many times in my life."

"I don't think-"

"Are you patronising me?"

"What are you-"

"You are patronising me! You have done nothing but patronise me since the day we met! Do you think you're allegiance to Mara makes you superior? Oh, let me guess, _Mara_ told you to go browsing while I fight off armed lunatics. Well my lady Boethiah could rip Mara's head off with her _feet_! Why aren't you answering me? Why don't you swim back to Skyrim and shop you condescending bastard?"

"… I'd only stopped for a second. Are you feeling okay?"

"Do I sound okay to you? Do I sound like someone who doesn't want to tear your limbs off?"

The stall owner looks completely bewildered, I could have sworn one of the citizens muttered a vexed '_women_' under his breath and if all these other fetchers keep staring I'm going to set them on fire. Erandur looks equally taken aback, and although he opens his mouth in a way that suggests a comeback, he shuts it again and shakes his head. I wish he'd shout. He's only ever shouted at me once.

"You mentioned the tavern?"

Oh, wait. He _was_ listening. Well, whatever, I'm still mad and it's too late to back pedal now. Although awkwardly stepping round to find what had caught his eye (out of curiosity, I swear), I'm seeing a necklace. An absolutely beautiful amulet of Mara, to be specific.

I- Oh. I may have buggered up again.

I've swivelled my head around to say something but all I get is a brief glimpse of orange robes charging into the _Retching Netch._ Yes, I've buggered up.Do I go after him? Who names their business after something throwing up anyway?

…

"Miraak? No… no I feel like I've heard that name before but…"

Although I went out on my own for a bit and pounced on a group of unsuspecting bandits, I still feel a bit clogged in the head. This is absolutely hopeless. Nobody knows anything about Miraak, Erandur's missing and this tavern smells like feet.

"Alright, fine. Thanks for the help."

I'm not worried about the cultists, really. Better men (or mobs of men) have tried to do me in, and failed miserably. I'm more worried about the fact they were trying to kill me for being the Dragonborn and not just because they don't like me.

I try to separate my supposed destiny and my actual life. It's like how people don't mix troll fat and dartwig together, because it makes a huge mess and gasses out the room. It's like my world-saving alter ego is the troll fat- very difficult to make use of- and my life as a College of Winterhold student is the dartwig- it has a kind of freedom to it. Like a flying dartwig. Yet another addition to the _Terrible Comparisons and Metaphors by Virani Reynel _book I'm writing.

Apart from the Thalmor, I can't think of anyone so well organised they would be able to send assassins (I use the term assassin loosely, these cult-dwellers just tend to barge into the middle of the city in broad daylight and try to end my life) after me. I mean, sending people after me just for being able to eat dragon souls. The Dark Brootherhood have tried a few times but I suspect that's Sergius' doing because I keep tripping him over while he works.

Lack of strategy aside, I'd gathered this individual that wants me dead has a cult because of the letter one of the men was carrying when the attacks first started a few weeks ago. It's still in my pocket, I think.

_Board the vessel__Northern Maiden__docked at__Raven Rock. Take it to__Windhelm__, then begin your search. Kill the__False Dragonborn__before she reaches__Solstheim_

_Return with word of your success, and__Miraak__shall be most pleased. _

'_Miraak shall be most pleased_.' Clearly they seek his favour. An ancient cult, then? Typically you had to earn the leader's approval or you'd be eligible for 'sacrifice of the week'. Stuff like that's frowned upon these days… but I guess that doesn't necessarily rule out the possibility of a recent formation. I've seen some pretty sick things.

This hall is sick, too. Pretty sure there's vomit somewhere near me and blood on this table. Is that the Captain of the Guard canoodling with someone in the corner? He'd probably pay to keep that secret. Not that I'd blackmail guardsmen, of course.

…Bah, nevermind potential business prospects, I've just spied Beardo over in an alcove. I don't think he's realised I'm in here yet because I have a preference to skulking round the edges of establishments such as this.

Remembering everything I said a few hours ago, it's sort of hilarious because none of it made sense.

_Oh, let me guess, Mara told you to go browsing while I fight off armed lunatics._

Judging by all the texts I've read, the Goddess of compassion doesn't tell her faithful to go to the market and do the shopping for her, but it felt like a good insult at the time. Do I have to apologise? Or do I just walk on over and pretend I didn't make a complete idiot of myself in the marketplace? I mean…

Oh. I think I have an idea.

…

"Hello. Want a drink?"

"No, thank you. I'd rather-" Erandur frozen now he's realised it's me. He's not sure what to expect and neither am I.

I pass him a flagon, a dead thistle branch I found at the bottom of my pack and the amulet of Mara from the merchant earlier.

"You look like you need it."

He's staring at the three items in front of him like they're fragile- or poisonous. It's a good few seconds before he does anything but it may as well be a lifetime to me.

After said moments, instead of throwing the objects in my face or simply standing up and leaving like I expected, he laughs. And I mean _really_ laughs. The priest- who looks like he's never got past chuckling- throws his head back and wipes tears of mirth from his face.

The whole building is staring at the two of us and I can't help but join in.

"That- that is-"

"Re-Really, really stupid?"

"Strange, to say the least"

Five minutes of howling later and he puts his head between his hands, taking a few deep breaths before he looks at me.

"I apologise. It really wasn't that funny."

"No, you can laugh at me if you want. I may have blown the market incident out of proportion." I plonk myself opposite him "Looking back I can't even remember why I was so angry…" I can't say '_it's because I really needed to drink blood_' so '_I don't know_' will have to suffice.

He looks like he's trying to find the right words, but settles for telling the truth instead "Neither can I. You ignore me all the time, you know." He pauses again to take the first sip from the flagon "But you listened when I told you about Rimion. You really are just like him."

There's some kind of irony in it all, and that may be why I'm laughing. If he found out I was similar to this Rimion for more than our personalities, he probably wouldn't find it as funny. Don't want to sour Beardo's view on vampires any more than necessary.

"I was looking at this amulet because it might give us protection against Vaermina."

I don't understand how a necklace will shield us from a powerful Daedra, but I smile and shrug my shoulders to appease him. I would be okay with not sleeping tonight. Just sitting here and pretending my temperamental outbursts are the worst of my problems.

"Sure. So, is this the part where I turn into a handsome male and sweep you off your feet?"

"I told you it wasn't like that, Virani." He looks at me with his best exasperated expression, but smirks a little at the end. Could have sworn my heart started beating again for a second.

"Not sure I'd be able to carry you, anyway." I'm sighing. I sure wish I could choose my fate, sometimes "Solstheim won't be so bad, just think of this as a vacation." A vacation with an attempted murder mystery and dragons.

Erandur seems to play with the idea of a break, and likes it "To a holiday at Solstheim, then." He lifts the mug in mock salute and drinks from it. I mimic the action despite not having anything in my hand.

"Boethiah grant us victory!"

"Mara protect us both."


	5. Outcast

"It's still as amazing as the last time"

Amazing isn't the word I'd use to describe the simultaneous glares of a dozen magic-hating Nords, but each to his own.

"Yeah, I've always thought the scorn of an entire community is marvellous."

"You know what I'm talking about." I've got to admit, previous comment not-withstanding Beardo (that nickname will become a legacy someday) has lightened up over the past month. He's less about doom and gloom, and more about doom, gloom and the occasional sarcastic comment. Even softened up to the fact I made a bit of a joke about it! (Such as he hasn't mentioned doom enough lately, or he hasn't reached his daily gloom quota).

He's ignoring my quiet sniggering and has chosen to walk off ahead "I never asked. How long have you been a member for?"

"Long enough to find a potentially lethal artefact and get half the teachers to curse my existence."

It's true. Ever since I found that orb in Saarthal and Tolfdir's been occupied by it, the other professors have actually had to _teach_, Gods forbid.

"So not very long, then?" The elf may irritate me at times, but I will always respect his ability to drop comments like that and not have a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

"About half a year, and it usually takes me an _entire_ year to ruin everything. Fellow mages just happen to be a catalyst."

I think I'll jog to catch up with my companion despite his cruel mockery, because the Jarl's on the prowl and if he was allowed to sacrifice me as an offering to the Gods to bring Winterhold back from the brink, I know he'd do it.

And this place really is on the brink, metaphorically and physically. I mean, it's on the verge of financial collapse but it's also perched on the end of a big mountain…

"Is this a general visit, or are we here to talk to Tolfdir again?"

Apparently question time with everyone's favourite talking facial hair hasn't ended yet.

"General visit and talking to Tolfdir generally merge into one, but you know those books we got from Fellglow keep?"

Is he grimacing? "Yes, I remember…"

"Well, I thought now would be a good time to give those books back."

And then I'll probably forget about the books, Tolfdir will forget where he put his alembic and both of us with stagger around trying to find the accursed thing while discussing the latest report he wrote on the complicated mechanisms behind alterations spells such as water breathing. Or the weather. Whatever tickles our fancy, really.

The walk up to the College grounds is always the worst. Getting past the locals is a slipperier process than that little bridge between the gates and the town that causes one and a half casualties per month. Not that I run surveys on those sorts of things, of course.

But yes, the long-suffering residents of Winterhold. If they could create fire using hatred and suspicion alone this snow covered town would be an inferno of… uh, hatred and a lot of fire, I guess.

Erandur doesn't seem to care as much as I do, stealing a quick glance at him. Either his fascination with the Arcane clouds his hate-sensors or he's just grown immune to the penetrating glares of humans that want you dead. Judging by the way I see him pull his hood as far over his face as it will possibly go when we enter certain towns, I think it's the former.

Huh, the sun is bright today. They should make some kind of spell for vampires that have actually have to go out during the day so their cover isn't blown.

…

"Virani!"

"Good to see you're not dead, Tolfdir!"

Erandur's looking at me like I'm a complete moron, and I think it's because he interpreted my comment as a jab at Tolfdir for being old. I was more congratulating him for staying in the College without getting blown up, murdered by Ancano, banished to Oblivion or some other irreversible fate. I'll leave him with the thought I'm just a horrible person.

Also, I don't care if Ancano hasn't _actually_ killed anyone yet. The guy's a Thalmor; meaning he's just trying to think of the smarmiest one-liner possible before he does the deed.

"We'll have to catch up in a minute. I've got news about those books that were stolen, and the guy that took them."

"Such a shame. That Orthorn fellow seemed like such a waste of talent..."

"You think everybody has talent. Anyway, look at this!"

I try to be careful about anything he might find interesting these days- lest he has a heart attack and I accidentally cause his demise- but this one is worth the risk. Seeing his face and oddly coloured eyes light up is one of life's smaller pleasures.

"By the Nine, you actually found them! Did the mages at Fellglow give you much trouble?"

Oh, no. Just your bog-standard pack of necromancers, nutcases, vampires and a woman who had the ability to teleport.

"Erm, no. Not really" Erandur- who almost got his perfect head of hair set on fire during the ordeal- looks like he's about to disagree with me but holds his tongue and squirms at the memory a little. "But as previously mentioned, I met the elf who stole the precious literature"

Tolfdir stops caressing the books and raises an eyebrow. "Oh, dear. How did he die?"

"Not dead; he was in a cage to be experimented on. Maybe they were trying to grow a third arm out of his stomach or something, I don't know." Around here, if you're not able to work out what your classmate is studying, you just assume it's something to do with growing a third arm. Makes it easier to give a witness report if they kill themselves in the process. "Anyway, I opened the cage and we pretty much rode out on a dragon into the sunset."

"Hm, unlikely but fascinating. I've always wanted to see a dragon." I think the reason I like Tolfdir is because he's the only one that's more absent minded then me when it comes to anything but research or teaching.

"You can see a dragon in your own time, I for one intend to stay in one piece" I'm taking another look to see if Beardo is still with us and frankly he doesn't seem bothered. He's just standing around, looking at that statue in the middle of the courtyard and probably wandering if anyone's ever tried to draw a moustache on it. That's what I'm wondering, anyway.

"Well, Urag will be eager to see these again. After you've finished in the library, you should bring Erandur and yourself into the Hall of the Elements. I've got fascinating observations on your discovery to share!"

And without another word, the mystical Tolfdir departs. I suppose I'll have to deal with the orc myself, then.

…

"You're actually alive."

"Please try and sound less disappointed for the sake of my feelings."

Urag just scoffs and using his body language alone gives the usual '_touch my books inappropriately and I will tear you limb from limb_' speech. Beardo- having the inborn ability to get along with pretty much anyone- nods politely and my favourite librarian stops looking at me and addresses him instead.

"I'm surprised you're alive too, Erandur. How many near death experiences has she gotten you into lately?"

He's chuckling! He never laughs when I'm around…"Only three this week."

"Oh, how witty the two of you are! Maybe I try to get you killed on purpose, Erandur."

"You're not that irrational."

"Wouldn't hold it above her."

"Shut up and look what I brought you!"

I'm going to drop these books in such a way you'll have to get out of your seat to reach them. That'll teach you, you loathsome fetcher.

"You're surprisingly immature for a grown woman, Virani." Erandur steps up and gathers the books I lobbed on the desk, tucking them under his arm "No, no, stay there Urag" He's thoroughly reprimanding me with a single look. Spoilt sport.

"So I'm a wretch of a being for making the man stand up? Azura's wrath condemn me!"

"No, you're just a wretch of a being in general, girl." Urag will take any opportunity to insult me and exploit it until he goes blue. If I didn't have ethical issues with feeding off co-workers, I would feed off him without remorse.

"Do you see this fire in my hand? I could walk up to _Spirit of the Daedra_ over there and-"

"Isn't there a book you wanted to find?"

As well as the lack-of-grinning and loved-by-everyone-in-the-College traits mentioned earlier, Erandur was bestowed the gift of immediately being able to distract me or shut me up if he wanted to. And when he runs his hands through his luscious locks, I am powerless to object.

"Yes! Yes there is!"

I trail off to go bury myself in the book shelves. Despite its cataloguer, the College of Winterhold Library is still my favourite room in all of Skyrim. I have this certain chair in the corner where I usually place myself (recently there's been two chairs there- an extra one for Erandur), and I know no one's going to bother me because, hey, nobody has the guts to approach crackpot Virani alone unless they're Tolfdir or Savos.

It's almost sad. I've never really seen eye to eye with the other with the other apprentices, and after finding the orb not many of the teachers either (You would have thought such an interesting discovery would have stoked their passions, but it did quite the opposite). They all know I'm Dragonborn, and I'm not much of a people person yet I can tell whenever I visit there's a tinge of disappointment. You know, that I haven't been eaten yet. Luckily I don't have to like them and I'm probably older than every single person in this place. Makes me superior by default.

"Are you alright?"

Sometimes I think I should have put Erandur's chair down the other end of the room.

"Why? Does it look like I'm not alright?"

"No, you've just been staring at that same page for the last five minutes"

"I'm a slow reader."

Instead of saying '_actually I saw you read the Lusty Argonian Maid in two minutes flat yesterday_' he just nods, and has worked out there's really not much point to arguing with me. You know, it's been a day or so since I-

"Apprentice."

-fed. Feeding isn't as disgusting as people assume it is. I mean, if you're sick in the head it could even be kind of-

"Apprentice."

-kinky. Not that I think it's kinky, because I'm the one taking in the blood. Blood does not taste nice. Don't recommend it-

"**Virani!**"

"Mephala's bloody underclothes, you can't just sneak up on a dumner like that!"

Oh. It's Ancano. Erandur apparently finds this hilarious and doesn't want to laugh in front of us, or very awkward, because he's buggered off to the main desk and left me to face the Altmer's wrath alone.

"Watch your tongue. I have been looking for you."

"Sorry, you're not really my type."

He uses all his Thalmor training to let out the haughtiest sigh possible and carries on "You need to come with me. Now."

"Let me just look at my journal… nope, nope, erm… nope. Sorry, I'm fully booked for the next twenty years"

"That's a copy of _A Gentleman's Guide to Whiterun_."

"Would you like to book an appointment?"

My companion, who's realised I might get myself killed or worse, on the Thalmor's bad side (they still don't know about the Embassy incident), has pretended he's left something behind and jogged back over to pull us both back out of the metaphorical hole I've dug.

"I'm sorry. What do you need, Ancano?"

"I _need_ your idiot companion to come with me to the Arch-mage's quarters. This instance."

He turns to me with silent warning, '_For the love of Mara, just go_'

"Oh, fine! Erandur, don't look at that book so wistfully. You can stay here and I'll behave, promise." I pat him on the back and send him away "Well, come on then. What Nirn-shattering event has earned your ire this time?"

"There's a Psijic Monk, and he is asking for you by name. You are going to talk to him, and then he will be questioned."

Oh, those guys with the ridiculous robes? They were all fetchers. Gave me cryptic advice and when I asked them to teach me something useful- like the time freezing trick- they refused.

"Great. Absolutely great. He's not going to stick around long enough for any kind of questioning, you know"

Ancano narrows his eyes and brushes me off with a '_we'll see about that_'. They won't teach you the time-freezing trick either.

…

"I should go."

One eye-wateringly difficult to understand conversation later and this monk is trying to pry the '_Anacano antagoniser of the month_' award from my cold dead hands. I'm just standing here, watching the guy duck and swerve around our Thalmor friend like he's got the plague.

"I… I'm not quite sure what happened. Did we offend him?"

"Oh, you know what the Psijic are like… Get their elitist loin-cloths bunched up over every little thing."

Savos scrunches up his face, and now all I can picture is the Psijic standing in their underwear and laughing at us peasants down in the College. "Did he speak to you?"

I don't want to let the Archmage know about the exchange, in case he makes me write a report on it. Best to play the clueless apprentice.

"Nope. Maybe I'm the wrong Virani, sir."

"How queer. And please, stop calling me sir." Savos turns to glue himself to his usual seat, but has apparently remembered something and whirled back around "Ah. I've been meaning to speak to you, actually."

"Oh, no. What have I done this time?" Last week I was allegedly sacrificing Winterhold townsfolk in honour of the dragons, and the week before that a woman of my description had been trying to summon Mehrunes Dagon through the focal point in the courtyard. I have no idea who keeps accusing me of these things, but I will find them and promptly dispose of them.

"Nothing, fortunately. Filing complaints on the acts you've avowedly partaken in is tiresome." He's gesturing over to his favourite table and I know you only sit there if you've done something right, or you're getting expelled. "You're not in trouble. Sit."

I don't really have much of a choice, do I?

"Would you like a drink?" He's gearing himself up for something, and I can't figure out what yet.

"Not feeling too thirsty, thanks. Oh! I managed to get those books back from Fellglow. Orthorn helped me, so… you know; if he comes back he's probably worth a second chance." I promised I'd put a good word in for Orthorn once I headed back. Good luck, buddy.

"That's marvellous. I was hoping he'd come to his senses on his own, but the boy was easily swayed. Now…" He stops for a moment to look my dead in the eye "I have a request, and I must implore you to listen to me."

"Does it involve killing anyone?"

"I certainly hope not!" The Archmage sighs and rubs his temples. Something tells me I'm not going to like this. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be dancing around what I'm saying, Virani. You must believe me when I say this is not what I wanted."

He gets up from the chair and is gesturing for me to do the same. No big deal. No sweat off my back. He's probably going to tell me off for drawing on J'zargo's face last week, which by normal protocol condemns me to kitchen duty for a week.

"As you are aware there have been certain… allegations regarding you. Some of them are completely implausible, but others are much more-"

Ah, the rumours that go beyond completely insane Daedra worship. As previously mentioned, someone's been trying to get me executed. Nobody knows who they are because instead of going and making the accusations in person, they'll get couriers to deliver the latest complaint or slip notes under the archmage's door like a teenage girl. It seemed harmless and a little funny at first, until Dark Brotherhood assassins started coming after me and the letters became more frequent. Letters with evidence that showed my 'guilt'.

_Virani's been working with the Thalmor. Check Ancano's belongings. _

_Virani's been stealing College funds. Look in the safe. _

_Virani's been dabbling in Daedra worship. Search the Midden._

_Virani's a vampire. Throw her into the light. _

The vampire one got me. I know it was most likely a stab in the dark but when I saw that note it took me a month to muster the courage to return to Winterhold. In fact, that insinuation was the most recent.

And after the most recent note was spread around the town…

"You're not saying you believe any of them, are you?"

"You know full well I don't. You must let me finish." Pause number five or so, and he exhales sharply "True or not, the more sinister ones have had your fellow college members and town residents talking. As I said, I don't believe any of them and upon discussing this with the senior staff they don't find truth in it either"

Is it hot in here? My mouth is _really_ dry. Maybe I should have taken that drink.

"Nevertheless, it is my responsibility as Archmage to keep the peace." Spit it out! "We believe it would be best if you left the College for a period of time"

Oh.

Oh. So I am being expelled. For _my_ safety. Savos Aren does not judge and he certainly isn't stupid, either. We both know he means for the safety of everyone else.

After the last aforementioned slander, which involved a drunken man with a sword and Onmund with a faulty lung, we both know this isn't for my sake.

"It was only a matter of time, I guess." I'm up and trying to leave so I can pack my bags, but Savos is refusing to let it drop.

"Please don't put it like that. You're still a member of the College, but it's just safer if you leave the grounds until this unknown individual loses interest, and the rumours die down."

"No hard feelings, then." I'm joking, my feelings are rock solid. "Does Tolfdir know about this?" I think if he's agreed to this, my undead heart will break. Surely he wouldn't…

"We thought it was best to leave him out of the final decision. During the meeting with the senior team, he spoke rather avidly in your defence."

I can unwillingly feel the corners of my mouth turn up. I can always count on good old Tolfdir. Whether he knew or not I've got to say goodbye.

"Well, thanks for letting me go nicely, I guess. With a bit of luck nobody's tried to set fire to my belongings."

The Archmage gives me a solemn nod and starts trying to distract himself with a book. Does this render me an exile now? Because that's going to make going to make following the Psijic's advice and '_averting the disaster you are not yet aware of_' harder than originally planned.

…

"You're… what?"

"As I said, leaving. Didn't get much of a say in the matter to be honest."

I've already spoken to Erandur and he just put a patronising hand on my shoulder before helping me pack, but Tolfdir isn't taking it nearly as well. Luckily the recent developments have distracted him from the fact I never did meet him in the Hall of the Elements.

"We should take this to the Archmage immediately. This is injustice!" The last time I've seen him move with vigour like this was the time Jyrik Gauldurson was trying to blast his head off in Saarthal. Good times.

"Tolfdir, Aren was the one who told me I was getting kicked out. Don't bother."

"I don't understand why he would agree to something like this. Poor Onmund had nothing to do with you!"

"Well, that man had come looking for me and Onumnd just happened to be in the way. It's sort of my fault."

"All those accusations were fabricated. We all agreed on that during the discussion we had. It just doesn't seem-"

"I'm going to be okay." He stops when I put my bag down. I won't have a reason to miss anyone but my mentor. "The Archmage says it isn't a permanent arrangement. Just until things cool down."

I'm not sure why I put down my pack, so I think I'll pick it back up again and make it look like there's some deeper meaning behind it. I start up again before the Nord in front of me can open his mouth "Keep me updated, alright? Not saying draw me pictures of Onmund trying to flirt with Breylna, but just tell me how they're doing"

I'm not sure why I care, really. Either way the old mage has conceded to my sort of reassuring words.

"The College always looks after their own." He smiles at me, and then at Erandur "I won't let the others forget you, Virani. May the Nine protect you. Both of you."

"Thank you, Tolfdir." Beardo nods in appreciation and gets a head start, because I've just remembered something important.

"Hey, before I'm indefinitely thrown out…"

"I'll help you in any way I can"

I pause. A pause is all I need. "Do you know anything about the Augur of Dunlain?"

Never been put off by the odds before.


	6. Guild

Never thought I'd find myself willingly going back here a while ago, but here I am. The not-water is still on the floor, Maul still looks like he wants to kill me and the smell of oppression is fresh on the wind. Yep, Riften is home.

Beardo (he still doesn't know about that nickname) doesn't really feel the same way if his facial expression is anything to go by, but I just cart him off to the Temple of Mara when I do business so I never receive the full extent of his scorn. Oblivion hath no fury like Erandur scorned.

The two of us get a few stares when we walk and before my paranoia makes a run for it I have to remind myself it's because we're suspicious and dumner, not because the townsfolk can smell undead. Maven- the evil crone who was kicking a beggar first time I came here- sizes me up when I walk past and is probably figuring out if anyone would miss me if I died.

We stop at the bridge and I lean over the bar to get a nice view of today's sewage.

"This won't take too long. I think. Although sometimes Bryn likes to chat, and so do I and you know…" I rub the back of my head in an attempt to look guilty but he's not buying it. Nevertheless he gets that I want him to piss off for a bit so leaves to speak with Maramal and partake in priesty things.

After watching him enter the temple I stroll into the centre of the market to see -sure enough- Brynjolf in his stall trying to fob more useless crap off as genuine merchandise. My ginger friend, never change.

"Bryn!"

He puts down what looks like a bag of rocks when he notices me "Virani? I didn't expect to see you so soon!"

"Well, a lot's happened, so my plans have changed. Also-" I can see his business sense double-take at the sight of my pack "- I thought you'd be interested in these"

"Is that… real dwemer? Do I even want to know where you got those?"

The memory of the Synod, the Falmer and the… emptiness of the ruins is still a little too fresh for me "Doesn't matter. Wasn't from Calcelmo's place, so you don't need worry about any negative repercussions. Are you interested, then?"

"Damn right I'm interested; Delvin's been looking for good dwarven haul for a month now. You can come down to the Flagon with me to barter with him if you want. Old sod drives a hard bargain."

Woah, woah, woah.

Truth be told I'd rather be chased out of Cyrodil again than go into the Ratway. But Bryn looks at me like this isn't really up for debate and I'm going down there whether I like it or not "Finally meeting the Guild. Lovely."

"Oh, they're not so bad, lass. As long as you don't do anything stupid they won't kill you" He says it with such cheer it's unnerving, but I can tell that last sentence is only partly a joke. He's telling me in his wily ways that I better watch my manners.

"I'm real polite when I need to be"

"Of course you are. We'll go down at dusk once I'm finished up for the day. Go tell your friend we'll be later than usual." Brynjolf says 'friend' with such contempt it doesn't take a genius to know he doesn't like Erandur. The nord's casual attitude to illegal business irritates Erandur, and Erandur's holy morals rub Bryn the wrong way. Figures that I finally make two solid friends and they hate each other.

"Yeah, right. I'll stop off at the temple then head to the inn."

…

"You're _what_?" Erandur does _not_ seem pleased with what I've just told him.

"Going. Into the sewers. To get much needed coin."

"Septims or not, I really don't think that's a good idea. It's a-"

"Shithole. Bad guy gathering. _Den of inequity_." Maramal shoots me a withering glance for that, which makes me snicker. "But it'll be worth it! No one else is interested in Dwemer items."

"Calcelmo's a Dwemer scholar. Blacksmiths would want it to smelt down. The College of Winterhold-" He cuts himself off at the mention of the College, then gives a sympathetic look "I'm sorry. But that's not the point. They're dangerous, Virani"

_They're dangerous_. Woah, hadn't thought of that! Is being a patronising fetcher a requirement for becoming a priest?

"Figure that one out yourself? I'm old enough to work out what I'm getting myself into. I came here to tell you I was going, not to ask you for your bloody permission." That came out a bit harsher than I meant. That's probably earned me a couple of hours of being ignored.

"Do what you wish, then." He storms off, beard flapping heroically in the breeze. He'll come looking for me later. We're a bit like an old married couple at this point, to be honest.

After purposely slamming the door as hard as possible, I walk into the Bee and Barb and try to look as not suspicious as possible until Brynjolf slinks in, ordering a tankard of watered down ale with the charm of a thousand bards.

He leans forwards to make it look like we're having a normal conversation and not something (sort of) illegal "We'll sit here for a few minutes before heading out. Don't want to attract attention."

"The sewers aren't that evil…"

"No, lass. There's a short cut that members of the guild use, and I have no intention of dealing with the loons in the Ratway. I'm putting a lot of trust in you here, Virani." His tone of voice is strained, which means he's stressed. Which means the other Guild members probably don't want me there. Desperation, then.

"You're still struggling?"

"Aye" His expression darkens "But Dwemer items are selling well lately, and so I'm hoping it'll turn a profit." Meaning '_it has to turn a profit or I'm skint'_

After a few minutes of small talk, he chugs down the last of his drink "Let's go"

I follow him like a lost child, until we walk into a graveyard. I think for a brief moment that corpses are selling better than Dwemer gear so he's going to kill me, but he instead carries on walking until we reach the large sarcophagus.

Shifty as anything, he glances around for other people before pushing the crest on the tomb and _Malacath's armpits it's moving_. The block keeps sliding back until it reveals a set of stairs, and I'll admit I feel like a spy or some other kind of cool, discreet occupation.

"Keep quiet, and when you get in keep your head down. Mercer's been in a foul mood lately." He just assumes I know who Mercer is, and walks down the steps so quietly you could have guessed there was no one there. "Delvin should be in the Flagon, go straight to him and no one else."

I try not to get too nervous in unfamiliar situations but his guildmates sound more like rabid wolves than people right now.

Walking into the cistern, that wouldn't be a far off guess.

As soon as my feet hit the floor every pair of eyes in the room are at the archway, and I'm just waiting for one of them to utter 'fresh meat' before they enter some frenzied tribal dance and eat me. Well, overactive imagination or not everybody in the room looked half-starved. Brynjolf really hadn't been lying about the state of his guild.

Despite common sense telling me to stare at the ceiling or some other non-descript object I can't help but look around. Ragged beds, leaking ceiling (It is a sewer, though), ratty target boards with equally ratty people using them. To compare, if Riften was an ordinary shithole this place would be Molag Bal's shithole.

"Who in Oblivion's name is this?"

Normally someone speaking wouldn't pull me out of my thoughts but this man has eyes I can only describe as _utterly terrifying_, thus my attention is grabbed. While I almost shat myself, Bryn seems used to it and turns on his most alluring smile "This, Mercer, is our new source of income. I've already mentioned Virani to you?"

Ah, so the surly bloke is Mercer. With the way he barks questions he is also the leader of this pack. The hundred septim smile does nothing to alleviate his mood, and side steps my companion to look me up and down "Huh. More simple than I imagined" Wait, what did he just call me? "You better not be blowing smoke out of your ass again, Bryn. And if she gives away the place of the Cistern…"

I have half a mind to snap back at him for calling me simple, but one look at his morbid expression wisely shuts me up "Uh, nice to meet you. I'm the embodiment of secrecy, honest"

"You'd best want to be" He turns to the Nord "Just get her to the Flagon if she's going to trade"

My blood already runs cold but right now it's frozen. I've had almost a century to figure people out and that fellow is bad news.

"She won't, Mercer. The merchandise is good." Bryn grabs my arm and almost powerwalks me to the door, and for some reason the floor seems much more fascinating than usual. "You're not seeing us at our best, I'm afraid. Best you barter then get out as soon as possible."

"Don't need to tell me twice, buddy."

A few awkward steps later and we're in what I'm guessing is the Ragged Flagon. Three times more rat droppings than the cistern, with three times the enmity from the patrons to boot.

"Delvin Mallory?" Bryn told me a little about him during our chat in the Bee and Barb and he's the only old Breton in immediate sight, so my deductive skills aren't really being put to good use.

"That's right. You're Virani, eh? Been told a lot about you."

"All good, I hope." Well, he seems nice but I've been round long enough to know I sometimes judge people badly, thieves in particular "Now we're introduced, I'd rather just get this done. Are you interested in any Dwarven pieces?"

"Dwarven? Nice. If it's legit, then I'm definitely interested. Let me see." I tip the bag's contents over the table to reveal random parts, some of it armour, other parts scavenged from the automated defences in the lost cities. He eyes it over bit by bit, occasionally gesturing over his angry blonde companion and another, redguard-looking woman to have a look. They look convinced, which is always a good sign.

"Two hundred"

They're joking.

"You're joking!"

See, I'm sometimes wrong. This guy's pleasant act is hiding a shrewd business man. I did _not _claw my way through countless falmer, take on a member of the Synod and haul pounds upon pounds of heavy gear for two hundred measly septims.

"I'm not joking, love. You're not going to find a better price anywhere else." He looks as calm as a silt strider, hands still folded over his stupid face, with his stupid accent doing nothing for my mood. The blonde cow is standing behind him glaring so hard I feel like I'll catch alight any second. She doesn't have the intimidating effect she was aiming for, though. Maybe Erandur was right this time and Calcelmo is the better choice.

"Don't get cocky. There are plenty of other folk who'll pay a good price for this sort of thing."

He examines the assortment of golden loot again, all while I tell myself if Delvin tries to offer anything less than seven hundred I'll up and leave. A few seconds after I put my arm on the table in what I'm hoping is a gesture indicating I'm ready to pack my things up and go, but Brynjolf is looking at me with such barely concealed desperation (it's an odd look on his usually cheerful face), I somehow feel like the scumbag for trying to drive a decent price.

"Fine. Four hundred with a garnet." A thief's way of saying four-fifty, then.

"I…" I meant to say '_I really don't think so_', but Brynjolf is guilt tripping me so hard it's difficult to think. No, I need to stand my ground for this one, I need-

"Eight hundred." That voice definitely was not Delvin's, and the thieves' simultaneous look of shock suggests it wasn't any of them. Swivelling around on my chair, I turn to see Mercer looming over my head like dragon. "Four hundred from Delvin, four hundred from me."

Looking to Bryn for advice, his desperation has been renewed with a look of '_Take the offer and get out while you can_'. I try to look Mercer in the eye to accept the coin, but can't. He's the type of man I feared when I was mortal, you know, the sort you'd try to avoid in an alley at night. Or day. Or avoid in anyplace, I don't know.

Going to pull out before I say something stupid, or finally try out that new Thu'um I've been working on.

"Eight hundred is great, thanks" That came out as more of a mumble than an assertive answer. Oh well, I just want my ill-gotten coin so I can run to Erandur and discuss boring priest duties or how horses seem to be slower these days.

"Then wait here. I won't be long" He stalks off and it's only when he shuts the door to the cistern I remember what breathing is. I can't even be bothered to think about why Mercer wants Dwemer pieces so badly, or the fact these people were more than happy to con me out of my coin (They're thieves, yes, but there's a difference between business between two parties and tricking some sap into buying _Falmer Blood Elixir_).

"You know Bryn, I think I'll take the Ratway out." I may have outright admitted I'm scared of the Guildmaster, but my honour is intact since I've done more embarrassing things before. Luckily, my redheaded friend doesn't question it. In fact, he seems almost as tense as I am.

…

My walk to the temple was pretty uneventful, all things considered. Had to deep freeze a couple of nutcases in the Ratway but they were so out of their minds on non-descript drugs it was barely a challenge. The bridge to Mara's abode was a little more nerve wracking- speaking to Beardo after an argument always is- but once again, nothing I haven't done before.

The doors push open, with a hooded head predictably spotted on the left front seat.

"Was it worth it, Virani?" He doesn't even look up from his book when he addresses me, but the scowl tells me more than I need (being a professional dumner for the last century or so, I can tell a scowl from a dark elf's normal, morbid facial expression rather easily). He won't be so against it when we're finally able to afford luxuries such as real bedrolls.

"Stop looking so mad. I got eight hundred for the lot." I'm smug with no fear of showing it. To my defence it's not as if I'm stealing myself, so it's just his priest-taught self-righteousness complaining.

"You're… not joking. What did you do down there?"

Climbed into a tomb, then a sewer, met a demon, wet myself a bit, got profit. Not going to tell him that obviously, "You wound me with your scepticism, sir. Dwemer items just happen to be hot on the market right now"

"The black market you mean"

"It'll be a gold market with all the things I just gave them"

He sighs dramatically, then rubs his temples "Just _please _be careful, Virani. Thieves are-"

"Dangerous, as you've reminded me many times before."

"I've seen too many people have greed be their end" The last sentence was scarcely a whisper and I get it was as much to himself as to me. I understand what he's saying, but it's easier to act the stubborn child than tell him I know greed well. It's what turned me into an undead abomination in the first place.

After the brief confrontation he doesn't say anything more- knowing he's told me off enough for one day- then simply follows me to the inn for a good night's rest. Well, he'll hopefully have a good night's rest, I haven't fed for two days and there are bandits causing a ruckus down the road.

…

"Ah, morning lass. You're leaving already?" Brynjolf catches me before I walk out the gates, brief panic from yesterday all but forgotten. I'm not so happy to play along after looking at yesterday's events with more hindsight.

"You know how it is. People to burn alive, dragons to pummel." I smile when he does, albeit uneasily.

"Of course, of course. Look, I could tell you were a bit put off yesterday" Wow, did me all but running out of the Flagon give it away? "But I hope this doesn't damage our relationship. Mercer likes you, really. He was impressed with what you brought in."

Lies, lies, lies. Erandur's picked up on it too and I can tell I'm going to get a grilling once we leave.

"Truly? Wouldn't be able to tell. I like you, but I don't like being played for a fool. If Mercer hadn't stepped in you and your motley crew would have been happy to pay me half of what that merchandise was worth. And don't think I couldn't see that guy in corner with the axe. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Oh, Dirge is always like that! I would have stepped in, you know I would have!" No you wouldn't have, you filthy liar. "You already know how deep in it the Guild is, none of us are at our best. Stick around until I fix it, and we'll both be swimming in septims. You still in?"

I look him dead in the eye to find a mixture of anxiety, tiredness and disappointment. It's then I know I'm one of the few outside partners he's got left. I'll admit to myself if no one else that in those eyes I see a bit of a certain young dumner girl that used to live in Cyrodil.

"Okay, okay. I'm still in. What do you need doing, my friend?"

"I knew you'd listen to me, lass. The details are in this satchel; try to get it done as soon as possible." He discreetly hands me the bag before giving my hand a firm shake with a pat on the shoulder "Take care out there, aye?"

Watching him grin as he walks away, Beardo has already huffed off out the gates, leaving me alone to look at red hair. It only then occurs to me the fact he brought the satchel with him implies he thought I was going to take it with me no matter what.

"Bastard"


End file.
